If there's ever a time you can't find me, don't worry. I'm doing alright. I'm probably hiding out somewhere counting my blessings, mumbling something about sunshine, wondering how much love I can live in a lifetime.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

If you really love someone, you're there for them, even when it hurts.

Warriors of the forest

Always remember, the world owes you nothing

Some things that are said are truth; other just belong on motivational posters.

creating memories together - one of the most precious gifts I have been given.

What happens when you meet a lover from a past life?

The only thing that can tame a wolf is the wolf itself.

Make love to the soul first, then the body.

Try telling someone you love them for the first time with your eyes.

We had a really good run, Desireé, we really did. But it's time that I go.

Know that I love you.

Always will.

It's the moment when a young man, still unsure of so many things in the world, is greeted by the one certainty in life: The moment he meets his wife for the first time.

It has all been very lovely, this time in Brazil, even the moments I cried, the times in the dark where I had to search the ground for my heart w/ blistered hands and find the courage to put it back into my chest. Even that. All of it, has meant the world to me.

I underestimated you, Marcella. You are much stronger than I thought, and you carry much more light w/in you than you might know.

Zoë, remember that you are a singer, remember what that means.

You translate the language of gods.

The words 'I love you' are thrown around too carelessly these days. They are said too often, and not often enough, all at the same time.

That look of understanding from another human being, even in the slightest glimpse,

that is what I live for.

You'll have to give me some incentive to assume that role. A rousing speech will usually be worth more to me than money.

Remember when someone cheatson you, it is because they are weak.

I am now bored w/ college students who do their thesis on 'happiness'.

Marcella, we were lovers in a past life. But now we are in another time, one that is not aligned.

George, I don't know if you know this, but you really saved my life out here.

Between the forest and the favela, that is how I would describe my life here.

The United States has become an ugly nation, the things that we raise onto the pedestal of strength. It is a shame, because it has the potential to be so much better.

You have reached a certain point of success when your respect begins to bring value to others.

All those things we are afraid to hear, all the things where we think someone is 'too into us' or we say because we are desperate, they sound just fine when said by the right person.

I don't ask for many favors, but when I do, it's because I really need one.

It's that moment you find a love that can beat the odds.

Everything that exists in the world exists for a reason. There is always a story behind existence.

Know that I am more impressed w/ the state of your soul than your intellect.

Oh my friends, the ride is only half way over.

Even the jester has a purposeful role.

A fighter's performance in the ring will tell a story about their life.

The moment I started believing in spirits is the night I heard the sound of a child crying from a graveyard.

You really have to earn that right, as a writer, the right to give birth to new words.

There is nothing wrong w/ being an animal. There is something wrong, however, w/ being a robot.

Gambit + Rogue

What if all these comic book characters, video game icons are just callings for the youth?

Fuck fellas, do we have stories.

I see now that staying in a relationship past its time is like trying to convince a ghost to fall in love w/ you.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Just so you all know, everything I write about, even the writing itself, none of it is for entertainment. I am not entertained by it. It is done because it must be done.

I saw a blue fire in your eyes the other night, Desireé, one that I've never seen before. There is something particularly powerful about that flame

Sometimes I worry that I am meant to wander for the remaining time in this life.

Jealousy is a cowardly emotion.

Forget your talents, forget your intellect. Forget your accomplishments.
What are you like as a human being?

It's really too bad that the public isn't drawn to ordinary triumph.

Everything off the path of faith will end up biting you in the ass.

Sometimes I just need to hear a story about someone making it through.

Sometimes all we need are stories.

Salve, alvorada

Can I tell you an honest secret? Would it be strange if I told you that I am afraid to hear you sing? That I am scared the melody of your voice will carry me to place that I will never want to leave, where all remembrance of the material world vanishes and all that matters in this life is the angelic harmony of your presence. Would it be foolish to say that I a fear becoming lost in the eyes of your song, that the sweet lullaby will slay all the fear I have been living on until now. Would this be too much to confide? I once said that I am training to protect this home of peace. I once said that all your pain may come hit you at once. I think I am training for this: To hear you sing.

Now I understand why we are so afraid to confront ourselves.

Don't you see that when I lend you $, it is an opportunity to build your character, a chance to tell the world that you are more than what they gave you? Why do you think I never ask for the money back?

Am I disturbing your spiritual experience?

I am your spiritual experience, motherfucker.

Don't you see? I learn how to fight to stop me from killing the world.

You may hate me at times, but trust me, you want me on your side

If I had to describe my experience in Brazil, it would be akin to learning how to ride a horse.

There is already so much out there trying to separate us from our instincts. Don't give in + numb yourself from your gut. Your suicide is their ultimate goal.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

She has an adventurous spirit, the perfect amount of mischievous curiosity about her. She goes into places that we don't know if we should enter, tries to teach me cartwheels on the wooden floor of a room labeled "The Classroom of Bodies". She pokes her head through doors etched with the words "Employees Only" on the front, but only if the door is already cracked open. She figures if it was left that way, it was left that way for a reason, and as long as we don't disrespect the rules of a guest, we were meant to explore the curiosities the world had set for us. I do my best imitation and motion that we go up to the rooftop where admission to the public is unmarked and unknown. But she must have sensed the lack of sincerity in my words and stops me before I can lead the way."Nick," she says to me, "if someone catches you in a place you're not supposed to be, would you be scared?" I crook my head sideways and pause for a moment, giving a look that questions the intention of her words."If someone catches you, will you feel shame and run, or will you fight for your belief to be there?" she continues. "Because you should only do something if you believe in it, and protect it if ever attacked. So would you be scared if someone catches you on the roof?" I sit with those words for a brief second, then instinctively eek this "ehhhhh" in a ho-hum kind of tone. Inside I'm trying to confront the terror of her question, weigh the weight of the courage in my principles, but I guess she must have interpreted it as a "I-don't-care-about-what-others-think-of-me" type of tone. Maybe that's what she was hoping to hear, or maybe that's what she wanted to teach me. Either way, she smiles and says "Good," and dashes past me up the stairs. I'm left befuddled in my thoughts of how the fates managed to let me have this day, and when I finally do regain my senses, I smile to the fleeting presence of her words, and quickly follow her to the roof, trying my best to keep up.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

I still remember those days that carried the airs of summer,
same as when it wasn’t summer, and of the enthusiasm topping our new
discoveries from the adventures at the beach. Adventures, Dad, because it was those
days that meant the most to me. I remember all the shells and the tireless
distance that we covered to pick them from the sand, one by one, so that when
we arrived home – a home at that time didn’t fight with sobriety and
darkness, that now, is there in some form – you could put them in a jar to
decorate our room. But before we would align them, one by one with care, and we
would select the most beautiful ones.

I always had a preference that, coincidentally or not, was
the same as you had. It would be more colorful, with tons of pink and orange
blurred with white, more than all that we remembered in that deleted space of
colors nestled in the return of the sun in the blue sky of the beach. The jar
would stay there, and I would never tire of looking at it, admiring our
collection of the day.

The beach was ours – mine and yours, and nothing else
mattered to me. You would know how to answer the questions I asked about the
sea, the fish, the sky, the shells. Today I ask myself if all of what you said
to my insistent questions had something scientific behind it, or if you played
with my imagination. Doesn’t matter, I would think, and you would never leave
me without an answer.

I was less than 10-years-old when you took me to walk on the
beach to play with the world. The summer never had an end for us, and our house
was never sad like it is now, because we had a closed jar of special shells and
certain preferences that we would remember, and even during the cold days, the
colors were there.

I only ask myself now, Dad, where all my childhood dreams
stopped, if they were lost in some place far from here. Some place without you,
without our beach, without the sunny days or shells. I ask myself at what
moment the world stopped being our amusement park and those days, one adventure
after another. What happened to that magic, Dad? I know that it hadn’t
disappeared by itself. We had to have let it happen. I don’t know at what exact
moment I lost the entire bond that joined us, and that certainty that I would
never need another person in my life because I had you. Something was lost
there, in that summer sky, and I don’t know if it died there, or simply wore
out with time.

We let it go away, is what I believe. What I want to say to
you is a little of this and much more: we let everything disappear. The beach
continues to be there, Dad. Nature will never stop to exist. The one who moved
places was us. The one that lost the magic was us.

And I don’t think to speak in guilt. I think about letting
go, about creating within itself a barrier, to distance itself so strongly to a
point of not knowing more what is important. Everything is complicated, now.
All the jumbled ideas in my head that already do not have more to guide
themselves.

And so I think to talk about the house.

When our living room turned dark, I remember the nights at
the dining table where I could clearly see the days of the beach turned into a mere
past. You kept on without knowing what broke between us, but I knew instantly
through that tired look on your face that you were no longer my father (or at
least the one that would play with me and appear full of life well into the
night).

We would eat in silence, because your voice would be too
spent to talk with me, and me, on the other side, wouldn’t know how to approach
you without the closeness of our moments together. After, we would still eat in
silence, because we would not have anything else to talk about with each other.
One time or another, you would talk about your work, and you had worked too
much. You would ask, with forced interest, what I am doing when I’m outside the
house. And I was already no longer a child.

If the jar still contained the shells or if it was empty, I
wouldn’t know. The truth is, I didn’t know where the jar was. It wasn’t here,
that was the only thing I was sure of.

The jar represented everything to me. But I forgot the jar, and
like that I forgot about everything for the future that I had planned years
before when I still believed that all of life was still possible. I caught site
of trips and travels we would take, and a house once more garnished with
memories in the form of the pieces of the world that we would collect. Our house
would smell of the sea, the sand, and I would keep the immensity of all that
was outside in a space so small, a space that was ours. I thought that I would
see this as a space to build, that I would count every step we would take. And I
didn’t think that one day I would grow up. I didn’t see, I didn’t see our space
destroy itself, nor see when it left inhabiting the hopes and dreams that you helped me deposit here. And you can’t deny that you had part in this,
although I had easily done everything to the point of seriousness and to
fatigue. I think I lost you to fatigue, Dad.

However, if you think that you made my childish fantasies go
away, you’re wrong. They’re still there. They’re still the decoration of the
furniture in our room, still presents on the dinner table, in those
conversations that we left with one another. They’re in some space belonging to
what almost ceased to exist. It would not be so easy. It would not be natural
to wake for life in the same moment that you decided that you would. I still see
all of this in some place, Dad. And I know that I didn’t forever lose these
traces of childhood in me. What I lost, in truth, was you.

Our house would not smell like the sea, it would smell like
mold. It would smell like an old thing left to rot on the side. The windows
would always be closed, and I would no longer see the world. The world turned
into a prison, one that I would not be able to enjoy no matter how much I
dreamed. But I know that in some place, lost between the sofa where I sat
looking at the floor and your room, much further down the corridor, where I know
you would be.

Until one day you came and told me that our guest room,
which was always empty, would be inhabited. But, Dad, it’s only you and me, it
was always just you and me. It seemed that this wasn’t good enough anymore. It
was a woman, and for some reason, I couldn’t see anything that weren’t dark
eyes. When I asked you what she would be doing there, you told me that she
would be in our house to take care of you, and to take care of me too. I
wouldn’t need anyone to take care of me. I wish I would have said that to you
before.

Now I know, there exist several facets of pain. There are
those that burn, that throb in some place well inside, so deep inside that it
feels that almost all the organs of the body are screaming, although the pain
is not theirs. And there is that are less pronounced, that don’t exude
disturbing sparks – they simply remain there in some form of absence. It’s not
only empty, but an emptiness that at one time was full. The pain of losing what
we already once had.

The silence and the darkness, the confused memories, the
mixture of forgotten fantasies with the real world is all I see. But what part
of these memories was really lost? If I could know, I would not need to worry
myself in recalling, in getting over in my mind so many times an abandoned
universe. If I could rescue a part of my imagination that was lost, maybe I
would better understand why this cruel distance has established itself here –
between me and the past, between me and you.

It was this that happened: you went after the dark eyes of that
woman that entered our lives. I didn’t believe that she had taken you from me,
because the only one capable of this was you yourself. However, in my view, no
longer so childish, what it was is the chaos that you were trying to escape, and
a fatigue that has bore the same life for years. I don’t blame you for the
tiredness, for the desire to let a life pass before your eyes without caring. I
don’t blame you for wearing away a job in where you always had to be the
caregiver. You also needed to be cared for, and you didn’t have anymore
strength to be worried with me.

I see clearly, now, the contrast between our two eras. We
were already happy, Dad. But we were only happy because you were happy. At some
point, a part of you desperately yearned to dodge all the obligations of life,
and with me, has turned more relevant than those old walks on the beach, which
now, only exist in a spent memory. And you were not happier, suddenly. I saw
enter by some crack in the doors of our home an anguish of familiarity, a
mediocrity of a routine without risk, and a mind that already wouldn’t house
the capacity to share with me in my world of dreams.

And it is because of this, for much time, I left a big part
of me inside that house and decided to flee, much like how you had done. Only
that you did this without leaving physically. You can say that it was me that
abandoned you, Dad, because I left the house without giving you the last
goodbye or telling you about the hurt that resided in me for so long. You can
attribute all the blame on me, the irresponsibility, the destruction of our
bond. And I would tell you that there was no bond to destroy, and maybe then
you would recognize that to continue living in the same physical space was not
proof of anything. I simply left, and they can say that it was a cowardly
act. It wasn’t. It was courage. Of resentment, but looking back, I don’t
know in what form. I still had hope. An illusion, a small flame that tried to
be extinguished, yet it continued in me to believe that life could still be beautiful.
To believe that I can still achieve an immensity that I saw one day out there,
to know there is more, that there is a whole universe on the other side of the
ocean. There will be other homes that house more colors than mine, and it is
possible that there will be still more colors that were there that same day.
There exist other beaches, still with the same ocean, and many other shells to
see there. They are brought by the sea, and if nobody collects them from the
sand, what will happen to them? This was the question that I never asked you.
Where do the shells go? Do they stay in the sand, stationary, forever? I’m sure
that they go somewhere. The sea is in charge, or maybe the wind is in charge of
taking the shells to some place. I guess I’ll have to find out for myself this
time.

You would not believe it if I told you, but I believe and
hope for more colored days, still. I believe in the sound of the ocean touching
the sand, inside the rustling of the leaves when they fall upon the waves that
run without direction. The waves don’t follow an exact pattern, isn’t that so?
They go, simply. They don’t run back. Some are higher, much stronger, much
faster. Some make more noise. I’m like one of those waves, Dad. I don’t know
exactly where I’m going, but the only certainty that I have is that I’m
moving forward. I’m going, that’s all I know. I go conforming with the movement
of the ocean. I leave freely the past times, without fears of looking back.
Without pain. The pain I no longer feel, I don’t allow myself to feel. And, if
I close my eyes for some seconds, wherever you are, I can see that which I saw
years ago, in a completely different sphere. It’s as if you could carry me
there, because I can clearly see the blue sky mixing with the green ocean water
and golden twinges. They were the rays of the sun. And I thought, also, that
when the shells had yellow scribbles, they were the rays of the sun. It
probably wasn’t, but for me it was an uncontestable reality. What matters, now,
is that when you close your eyes, you can still hear the noise of the very
bottom of the sea, of some form that I almost believe to be real. The anxieties
are real, from one moment to another, and I continue here – in the middle of
the vast ocean listening to the crashing of waves. I will continue there,
unmoving, until I sink in the profundity of the water and realize it is just a
memory, which becomes increasingly unrealistic with time.

And it is for this I was different from you, you that
stopped searching for life where you could overcome the fears, the humility and
the shortage of forces to act. I came to the world that I knew was always
around the abandoned city of my childhood, and I let a life that belonged to
you be solely yours. This moment, I put myself out. I eased a way for you to
ease your pain – so that you can embrace depression in a way that suits you, so
that you could save all the displeasure and the unwillingness for you. I left
the past intact where it should be: inside my memories. I’ll pretend it did not
happen the moment in which the charm was lost. I will save only the part where
we were happy, you can be sure of that.

I didn’t have a mother. I also didn’t have a father, after a
time. You want to know what I have then? I have fantasies, a sweet glance around
the possibilities of what awaits me in this new life. And I have a jar full of
colored shells that I stole from a home that no longer houses more beauty. I
have the beach. I have my eyes, my hands, and while they are able to touch
life, they will not give up so easily.

With you, Dad, I learned so many lessons. One of them was
about how easily it is to surrender to a dimension where there is no life, only
loneliness that comes from fatigue. The other was a long time ago, I don’t
remember very well, but it was something about seeing the world until it existed.
It was something like you asked me until how far I could see the sea. I looked
for both sides, for the back of the ocean, and I couldn’t see the end. I told
you that it never ended. Just like how I could believe in everything that
sounded beautiful, realistically, I believed in that moment that there was the
ocean on all sides. “Then, if I start
swimming without stopping until the front, are you saying that I won’t find the
another land like this ever?” I cannot remember what you said, but I can
suppose, and I prefer to believe that they are words that I have in my mind
now. I don’t know if they left your mouth that day, or if I invented them, it
doesn’t matter, I prefer to save in my memory that your response was this: “It depends on what you are looking for – if
you want land, you will swim until you find it. If you want infinity, it
doesn’t matter which direction you go, it is infinity you will find.”

Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Sometimes I want someone to be absolutely selfish with me. I want her to be obsessively possessive, to feel the urge to gouge out the eyes of anyone else that looked my way, but never act on it because it would be beneath her. I don’t want her to look out for my well-being. I don’t want her to let me grow. I want her to wish upon me a torturous life of mediocrity if that was what it cost to be together. I want her to tell me to give up all my dreams and trade them for her because loving her would be greater than any dream achieved. I want her to seek comfort, to be safe, to make a place isolated from the rest of the world and enough room for me to be safe too. I want to be in a miserable, mind-numbing bliss. Just once, I want someone to say to me... stay.